A few moments of silence passed, then Nicol said, more quietly, “Is anyone down there?”
Heart thudding, Lindsay stepped forward, letting his heels click audibly on the ground. Then he spoke, keeping his voice soft, too quiet to disturb the other householders. “It’s me. Somerville. May I come in?”
Nicol said nothing. He must be wondering how he had known—or rather sensed—who stood at the front door of his tenement. After all, that was what Lindsay was wondering.
“Mr. Nicol?” he said again, into the silence. At that, the shadowy head disappeared and the shutter banged closed. An iron bolt grated home, securing the window.
Hell.
Disappointment soured Lindsay’s stomach as he realised he had been dismissed. Beyond that, a more disturbing truth simmered, but it was not one he was willing to face up to yet.
As he turned to leave, though, a sudden noise made him pause.
Footsteps, behind the solid front door. Then the metallic grind and roll of locks tumbling. The squeak of iron hinges. Lindsay wheeled around.
Nicol stood in the open doorway, his gaze troubled.
“Why are you here?” he said. “What do you want?”
Chapter Twelve
“Well,” Lindsay said, adopting a light tone. “I wouldn’t mind a brandy.”
He stepped forward into the ring of dim light emitted by Nicol’s candle. “Perhaps we could continue our conversation from dinner? We didn’t get much of chance to talk before you stormed out.”
Nicol frowned and opened his mouth to reply, but Lindsay jumped in before he could utter a word, sensing a rejection was coming. “If you’ve no brandy, I’ll take whatever else you have—I’m not fussy.” He smiled winningly and hoped he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt.
“It’s rather late—” Nicol began. His tone was reluctant, but his gaze ate Lindsay up, lingering on his mouth.
Oh, yes.
“Just one brandy?” Lindsay murmured. “Or whatever you have. Come on, Nicol. I’ve come all this way to see you.”
Nicol’s frown deepened. “That’s what I don’t understand.”
“What do you mean?”
